7.
“Cough, cough.”
She expected it to be fleeting, but once the coughing took hold, it refused to break. As the struggle for air bled into dry heaves, Anita scrambled up and rushed to the bedside.
The blanket that had been tucked around her shoulders slipped, pooling limply on the floor.
On the bed, Lancelot—whose return she hadn’t even registered—was curled into a tight, agonizing ball.
“Lancelot?”
She reached out, carefully wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. Watching him labor for every breath was so harrowing that the last traces of her drowsiness evaporated.
“La, Lancelot. Are you alright?”
His gaze was unfocused, his eyelids barely lifted as he turned toward her.
Lancelot stared at Anita in silence. He blinked with agonizing slowness, as if drifting toward unconsciousness, before his cracked, dry lips finally parted.
“…No.”
His voice was a raw, discordant rasp.
“Huh?”
“That thing you made.”
As Anita stared at him blankly, the memory of the ginger stew she had brought him days ago surfaced with sudden clarity.
“Yo, you ate it? But that… I specifically told the maid to throw it away…”
Lancelot coughed, a violent spasm that bordered on retching, before he could muster the strength to continue.
“I… cannot tolerate strong scents. They nauseate me. And loud noises… they are a torture. My head is ringing, throbbing. It feels as if someone is driving nails into my brain.”
She was stunned. She had assumed he was merely sensitive, but she had never imagined the depth of his suffering.
*And I… I didn’t even know. I spent the day laughing and chattering, filling the room with the noise of Claunia’s presence.*
Guilt rendered her mute.
Lancelot held her gaze, his voice a terrifying, brittle whisper.
“I am simply… someone who cannot endure the filth of noise or stench.”
The eyes that had pinned her in place flickered and slid shut behind thin, pale lids.
“If you intend to keep coming to Edenbahir, keep that in mind.”
His breathing began to shallow, leveling out into a fragile rhythm. Anita pulled the duvet up, carefully tucking it over his shoulders.
With a heavy, silent breath, she slipped out of the room.
Thud.
His words occupied her thoughts throughout the long walk back to her chambers.
A deluge of overwhelming emotions assaulted her, yet her conclusion remained singular.
No matter what anyone said… she was glad she had come to Edenbahir.
***
Noon arrived, and the blizzard that had ravaged the estate for two days finally relented into a sullen quiet.
“Eeeing, Anita. Don’t be like this, let’s go out. Hmm? A circus troupe arrived last night. They say there’s a man who is impossibly tall and a woman who breathes fire!”
It was her tenth attempt at persuasion.
Claunia was clinging to her arm, eyes swimming with tears, reciting the same plea for the tenth consecutive minute.
“Hmm? Hmm? Hmmm? Let’s go, let’s go!”
Under different circumstances, she would have found a way to yield, but…
Anita’s gaze drifted toward the firmly shut door down the hall.
Lancelot was sleeping beyond that threshold. His condition had deteriorated significantly since the night before, and her anxiety would not permit her to leave him.
The Duke of Edenbahir would not return until late, and the Grand Duchess was so loathed by Lancelot that her presence alone would be an intrusion.
His nanny attended to him daily, but she looked frayed, worn to the bone.
Anita wanted to spare her.
“It’s freezing today, Claunia. Let’s play all day tomorrow. The circus stays for a week. We’ll surely be able to see them if we go then.”
“But I want to see them today! Today, not tomorrow!”
Claunia pouted, her face a mask of sullen resentment, but after a long silence, she eventually nodded.
“Hmph! Fine, just this once. Since you’ve always indulged me, I’ll let it slide.”
“Thank you.”
“My mother says it’s vital to give back what you receive. But in exchange, we are playing outside all day tomorrow. It’s a promise.”
“Yes, a promise.”
And so, Anita remained by Lancelot’s side through the afternoon and into the evening, reading books and solving puzzles. She felt a profound sense of relief that the harrowing symptoms of the previous night had not returned.
When she finally checked the time, the hour hand was resting on eleven.
“Anita.”
Late that night, Claunia drifted in, draped in her nightgown, looking worried.
“When are you going to sleep? You’ve been by his side all day. Aren’t you exhausted?”
She felt no fatigue. She had done little more than read and solve puzzles while keeping a vigilant watch on Lancelot.
“I’m just worried. And it’s so cold in here.”
“But Lancelot is always sick… don’t stay too long. You’ll catch it too. If both of you get sick, I’ll have no one to play with and I’ll be lonely.”
“Don’t worry. Good night, Claunia.”
After Claunia retreated, silence reclaimed the room.
Anita had drifted into a light sleep, but the sound of thrashing pulled her from the depths of her subconscious. She surfaced, blinking against the darkness.
“…Ah.”
She sat up abruptly at the sound of a ragged groan.
“Ugh…”
Again.
“Lancelot?”
Had the pain returned?
But this time, it was different.
Lancelot had collapsed from the bed and was convulsing on the floor, his body wracked with seizure.
*Oh, what do I do?*
She rushed to his side.
“Lancelot, are you alright?”
His state was terrifying.
From his collarbone to his jaw, pale, thick veins stood out like the roots of an ancient tree. His chapped, bloodless lips were being chewed to the point of bleeding, and his entire frame shuddered in rhythmic spasms.
Lancelot gasped for air, a guttural sound of pure agony.
“Damn it… my chest… it’s burning.”
*My… my chest? Why? Is his heart failing?*
“Wait just a moment, I’ll call for someone… ouch!”
As Anita moved to find help, she was jerked backward by a strength she had never known him to possess.
His hand, with its bulging, prominent veins, clamped onto her arm like a vise. Sharp, pale fingernails dug into her skin, and red droplets of blood bloomed on her forearm.
“Ouch, it hurts, Lancelot!”
“Kk.”
In that moment, a strange, unnatural light flickered in Lancelot’s eyes as they flew wide open.
Anita’s breath hitched.
*Ah.*
She instinctively hunched over, gasping as a sharp, stinging sensation lanced through her own chest.
*What is this?*
It felt as though a flame had ignited within her own ribs.
Taken aback by the bizarre, phantom sensation, Anita stared at him in a daze.
His eyes were wrong. The pupils had stretched, narrowing into vertical slits like those of a reptile. Inside that darkness…
*Gold eyes?*
Had Lancelot’s eyes always been such a vivid, piercing gold? She remembered them as a soft, deep shade of green…
“Damn it!”
Startled by the scream, Anita pulled Lancelot’s body into her embrace.
A pained groan leaked from his blue-tinted lips.
She was paralyzed by fear. She couldn’t believe that Lancelot—the indomitable, strong Lancelot—was weeping from the sheer scale of his agony.
He clutched at her hand, pulling it toward his neck.
“You… kill me….”
What was she supposed to do?
*I’m scared.*
What if something happened to him? If she left to find someone, would he do something terrible to himself?
Anita did not choke him. Instead, she held him tighter, shielding his shoulders with her own body.
The throbbing pain in her arm was swallowed by her terror and vanished, forgotten.
A raspy voice whispered, broken by effort.
“It hurts like hell. Just… kill me, Anita. Please.”
“I, it’s alright, Lancelot. If you just hold on a little longer, it will pass. It’s always been this way.”
She wished she could bear his burden, even for a single day.
“I’ll stay. I’ll watch over you all night. It’s okay, Lancelot. It’s going to be okay.”
The seizures persisted. Anita pressed her warmth against his corpse-cold skin, her voice trembling.
“H-hey. They say a circus troupe came to town. Claunia told me earlier. She asked me to go see them so many times, but… I refused.”
Anita didn’t even know what she was saying, but the words provided a tether. She clung to him with one arm, stroking his gaunt, bony back with the other.
“They say it’s a magnificent troupe. So famous that people travel from neighboring cities to see it. That child said there’s a man who is incredibly tall and a woman who breathes fire….”